


Farewell to Love

by prophet_of_troy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Character Death, F/M, Heartbreak, I'm Bad At Tagging, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mystery Character(s), Sad Harry, Self-Reflection, Some angst, Surprise Ending, The Golden Trio, Tissue Warning, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 04:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21010088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prophet_of_troy/pseuds/prophet_of_troy
Summary: Harry knows with all of his heart that he will die today, and he knows there is no possible escape. He knows Death will find him, and he takes this chance to write a final letter to the love of his life, and to the friends he made that made themselves family.





	Farewell to Love

My Dearest Love, 

Last night, I dreamed dark dreams. At first, it seemed much like past nightmares- such I have not had in so long, with you at my side, that I'd forgotten how paralyzing they were. I was taken back to the life I had with my relatives, the only real memory I have of my parents alive, and that night so long ago when I went to meet Tom Riddle in the Forbidden Forest. Later the dream faded into the visage of my mother smiling at me, Sirius at Christmas when we were fifteen, and upon waking I knew without any hint of doubt or question that I am going to die today.

I know that you have never put much, really any at all, stock in such a notion as Divination- which is the closest thing I have to compare this certainty to- but being who I am, I believe it would be quite hypocritical of the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die to write such a strong feeling off. I couldn't possibly describe it, and I'm not sure I'd want to, but I feel as though I was told this so I'd have a chance to say goodbye. I might be wrong, but on the possibility I am not, I have to write this out. 

You were the first person I ever told 'I love you' to. 

When I came to Hogwarts, knobbly knees and unruly hair along, I'd never met anyone I felt anything more than indifference or disdain for. Who was I going to express love for; the imaginary friend who kept me warm in the cupboard under the rule of accidental magic? Or drunken parents that had deserved their fate? But then, in the darkest time of my life, you were there with your optimism and your smile. 

You were the first person to ever tell me I was loved.

Or perhaps you are just the first I can remember. Maybe my parents did, I'm sure they did, but of that I have no memory. Maybe another family member did when I was so young that the world around me yet existed. But you, you told me without pity or apology and then spent the next years thus far making sure I never forgot- drowning me in it when I began to from circumstance or my own misplaced angst. 

Forgive my pause, my love, but my mind drifted to our wedding, when you refused to conform to the tradition of wearing white, and instead- in the face of House bigotry- wore a blood-red gown that trailed to the floor and mildly floated behind you as you walked to me, setting my soul aflame with it. We'd told them ours was going to be different. Different in my case that I still cannot imagine a happier groom or husband than I was and have been, at having married you. I never thought anyone could love another person more than I loved you in the moment you said 'I do', and yet- like so many times before- I was wrong again. 

The image of you in the hospital bed with our daughter tucked in your arms will forever be burned into me, into my memory as the image that produces my best Patronus, and it is the shame of the world that it shall die with me. You'd never seemed more beautiful to me than looking down at our firstborn, after hours of labor rendered your hair into a sweaty mat, your face flushed and pale at the same time. 

Again, I must pause so that my head may come back to me. I shall take this point, I think, to address the soon to be final two-thirds of the Golden Trio. Forgive me, but I've still more to say and I'm beginning to feel paranoid time pressure that I must finish this letter and lay in wait for Death to reach me for the last time. 

Ron, Hermione, there aren't enough words in my vocabulary to express to you my gratitude for, I suppose, your existence. I came to Hogwarts at best hoping for friendship, and you offered me family. You offered me a better family than I could have hoped for, friendship following in a way I never thought could be possible. I love you both, and now that they're over, I remember our adventures fondly- if only because you both helped me see that I could. I know I would not be alive without either of you, and I most definitely wouldn't be who I am today. I'm sorry to leave like this, but you'll be okay. I know. You'll keep each other strong, the way we had to those years ago. 

My love, my heart is racing and I must finish this letter while I can. And I must get to the heart of everything. I must get this out. I must face this in a way that I haven't been able to before it's too late. I must accept this the way I couldn't before. 

Do you remember, my world, how much you love the opera? I remember the first time we went with Hermione for her birthday. You were eight months pregnant, and still insisted on going, if only to keep Ron from sticking his foot in his mouth and inadvertently ruining the night for her. Then you were so enthralled, I can still close my eyes and see the lights shining off of yours- the way your breath hitched at the right notes, or your lips pursing at a new development in the plot. I spent more time watching you than I did the show. And, do you remember the weeks after when I would catch you at our radio, a wedding gift from Mr. Weasley, listening to opera music and nearly as enthralled as you'd been in the audience. I will never forget the night we went back to the opera as our first night out after having our angel. You were so excited, and I wasn't prepared for the slight squeeze on my arm before you collapsed. 

Dragon Pox, they said when I rushed you to St. Mungo's. Sudden and severe, they described it. Something about you still being weak from the particularly difficult pregnancy. It was another week before your natural paleness was noticeably green, before you began to develop the pox side of things, before the Healers told us you were far too contagious to hold or see our daughter. It was a month before you stopped breathing. A month of hospital life wherein I was never away from your side for more than an hour, of watching you slowly wither away before my eyes until one day you were just gone. It was a year before I could look at your picture. A year before I could again say your name without feeling the heartbreak once more. 

Hermione had told me it wasn't healthy. She and Ron both said it wasn't good for Lily, it wasn't good for me to ignore what happened. To hide from it. I suppose that might be why I am so calm. I know with every fiber of my existence that I am to die today, and yet I'm not really sure I care. I shall be reunited with you, and our friends will tell our daughter the people we were in a far better light than the truth, of that I'm sure. 

It isn't fair, that I've lived this long without you. It's isn't fair that I'm the one our daughter will have memories of, when you were far in a way better to know. It isn't fair, selfish as it is to say, that I was put through what I went through growing up- to find you and lose you. I thought, when we married, that you were the reward. That you were the reason I did all of it, all of that Hell to deserve the happiness you brought me with a smile. It isn't fair that our little girl, who looks painfully like you, will grow up without her parents. 

She is, you know, so much like you that my chest contracts thinking about it. So much that I sometimes can't breathe. She just turned six, my love, with blonde ringlets like yours and green eyes like mine. She has your talent for music, your kindness, your wit, and I love her with all of the heart I have left after it died with you. Maybe that's the secret of it. In death, we are all equal. In death, we can all be happy. I am not afraid to die, for I will be happier than I have been in five years and seven months if only I see your face once more in our afterlife. Oh, my love, my darling, my hear


End file.
